


Hugs

by CMHolden



Series: Riftdale - Line One [9]
Category: Benjaminutes - Fandom, The Riftdale Chronicles (Web Series)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 11:35:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15000047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMHolden/pseuds/CMHolden
Summary: A little one shot. AU where Christian goes to prison. He's been granted parol.





	Hugs

“Parole? Already?”

“You sound disappointed.”

“…I just… don’t understand.”

Christian held his hands together. Sure, he was happy to get it, but why?

“…Where will I go?”

“We have your brother coming to get you.” Brother? Christian didn’t have a brother. He nodded anyway. Maybe Bill lied for him? Unlikely considering what happened…

\---

The sun was bright and high as Christian was lead out. The officer took the cuffs as a car idled nearby.

“Bart?!” Christian watched as the other man stood up off the car hood. He opened the door.

“… Dad’s excited to see you.” His voice was calm but hinted at the anger underneath. Christian sighed and got in. It was only fair.

\---

The drive was long and awkward. Bart said nothing, letting otometone covers play on the stereo.

“…So… you uh…. Learnt to drive?” Christian asked quietly.

“I’ve been able to drive since I was 23… You just never trusted me to.”

“…You were a hostage…”

“Yeah.” His voice no longer held the fake pretentious accent. Christian stared, trying to see what else was missing. His eyes had dark circles underneath them, and his glasses were frameless.

“…Where’s your beret?”

“At home. I came to pick you up from work so… I didn’t really have time to grab it.”

“You have a job?”

“Yep.”

“…Where?”

“I teach an art class for the elementary school.”

“…So still doing… art…?”

“I don’t make it much anymore…” Christian stared at him.

“…But you loved making art.” Bart sighed, shrugging.

“I still do. I just… Don’t have the time anymore.”

“…I’m sorry,” Christian sighed, scratching his arm.

“… It’s fine. I was never really good at it anyway.” He turned the volume up and said nothing more.

\---

Bart pulled up outside of Riftdale. Dad was bouncing excitedly, holding a balloon. Christian exhaled out of his nose as he got close enough to read it.

_Congratulations, it’s a ~~girl!~~ Parole!_

“…He hasn’t changed a bit, has he?”

“The man’s been around for millennia. I doubt he’s going to change that much,” Bart smiled as Dad got in the back, hugging Christian around the shoulders.

“Hey, Dad…”

“Look at you Champ! I’m so proud you completed the program!”

“Haven’t completed it yet Dad, just… got over the worst of it.”

“Still proud!”

“I know, Dad.” He gently held the other man’s arms to his chest.

“Dad, can you put the balloon over the back, I can’t drive if I can’t see out the back,” asked Bart.

“Sure, thing kiddo!” Dad sat back and put his seatbelt on as Bart drove off.

\---

“Where are we now?”

“This is my place,” Bart replied. It was a small cabin on the outskirts of town. It was surrounded by small trees, with a rose garden out the front.

“Did you cut that bush into a rhino? That’s really good Bart…”

“…Well… thanks but… it’s supposed to be an elephant.”

“Oh.” Bart gave a gentle smile as he took his satchel off the back seat and headed in. Dad teleported to the front door. Bart sighed.

“Dad, you can just let yourself in.”

“Kiddo, I want to make sure that you see this.”

“Dad, I know how to use a front door. Just go inside.”

Christian chuckled, heading in after them.

\---

Clairvoyance sat at the table with a mess of papers.

“Claire, we agreed you’d keep this in the basement.”

“I just needed sunlight!”

“Why?!”

“Do you really want to know?!”

“Not at all, please clear the table!”

“Dinner’s not going to be ready for another twenty minutes anyway!”

“You forgot it was your turn again, didn’t you?” Bart rested his hand on his hip. Claire gave a nervous chuckle before

“… Hey Christian!” Claire smiled at him. Christian blinked. His facial hair was much scruffier, but his face was cleaner. His glasses were more tape than frames. Other than that, he looked the same as before.

“Hey… How are you?”

“Better than you look~” Claire smiled as he began clearing away his papers as a baby cried upstairs.

“I thought Bill was picking her up at 3?” Bart asked, putting his bag down and heading up.

“He was, but he got held up. He’ll be here as soon as he can,” Claire responded, putting the papers to one side. Bart came back with a dark-haired baby, hushing it softly, before passing it to Dad. Dad smiled gently, rocking her softly as Bart went to get her a bottle.

“… Bill’s daughter?” Christian asked, looking over Dad’s shoulder. The girl had the palest eyes, but her skin was darker than her fathers.

“Three-months-old ~” Dad responded, “Would you like to hold her?”

“Dear god, no,” Christian responded. His hands were still shaky and kids generally hated him. Bart handed Dad a bottle, letting him feed her.

“S-so who’s her mother?” Christian asked.

“Birdie, of course,” Claire responded, placing a little tin foil hat over her head, only for it to be promptly flung to the floor.

“S-she’s alive?” Christian asked. All eyes turned to him. The silence was deafening.

“You didn’t know?”

“…I thought… I thought I…” he said softly.

“… She’s in a wheelchair, but she’s alive,” soothed Dad. Christian nodded. His last hit before being arrested. Four dead, six injured. Or at least, that was what he was told. He sighed. There was a loud knock at the door, followed by the familiar heavy footsteps of Bill. Christian moved back to stay out of the way as he came in and greeted everyone. The room felt like ice when Bill saw him.

“… Christian.”

“…Bill. It’s… it’s good to see you.” The other man nodded. He took the girl from Dad. He looked at him, giving him a nod.

“… Good to see you too.” He left without another word.

\---

Christian sat curled up on the couch, sighing softly as the smells of food filled his nostrils. Bart sat next to him with a small fold out table, grading essays from his students.

“…Vaughn Goe… Vahn Gel… Decide on one misspelling and stick to it damn it…”

“Bart?”

“Yeah?”

“…I really am sorry… for… everything…”

“… I know,” Bart sighed as he took off his glasses and leaned back. He rubbed his eyes, “I know you are Christian… I just… I just… still feel hurt… Finding out that it only sold for one dollar. I spent ages on that piece… the other two you sold that day… I mean, I put so much effort into the statue… and it just…” he sighed, “Look… I’m probably always going to be angry about that… And it’s always gonna hurt. There’s really all that can be said about the matter.” He put his glasses back on, going back to the paper. He sighed softly. Christian nodded. Fiddling with his fingers until Claire called them for dinner.

\---

Claire hummed as he washed the dishes. Bart had gone back to his gradings. Dad left to go check on Mom. Christian stood across from where Claire washed.

“…Can I help?” Christian asked. Claire smiled and handed him a tea towel.

“Be my guest~” Claire smiled as he washed. Christian began drying. He smiled softly as he saw the detergent bottle. _Kills the Gay Frog Juice_ had been carefully written in sharpie on the front.

“…It’s not your fault.” Christian raised an eyebrow. Claire gestured with his head towards Bart.

“What do you mean?”

“Him giving up on being a famous artist. He did get a little popular after your trial from some of the art he did. Some girl found out he drew her and… he kinda became popular in that group. He just couldn’t make a living off it. When his Aunt died and left him this place, he got a job.”

“…Oh.”

“Yeah. He’s still upset you sold his work though. He remembers being happy making it… so… yeah.”

“…Yeah.”

\---

Christian sighed as he curled up on his side. Claire had cleared a space for him in his caravan and gave him some pyjamas. They were soft. The blanket was warm and the bed was cozy. Claire poked him in the backside with his foot as he brushed his teeth.

“Bruss yehr teef,” he said, tipping his head back so the foam didn’t fall out of his mouth. He handed him a new toothbrush. Christian took it, looking at it confused, before getting up and following Claire back to the bathroom. Claire put the toothpaste on for him. Christian scrubbed his teeth back and forth. Claire shook his head, spitting into the sink.

“Make little circles, like this,” he said, holding his lips open wide to show him. Christian copied him, feeling the brush clean away all the plaque. He copied Claire as he brushed his tongue and cheeks, spitting into the sink. He looked into the mirror. His teeth looked less yellow, and more of an off-white.

“Christian… would you like a hug?”

“Uh, what?”

“A hug… See… Bart and I have this deal where… if one of us feels like crap, we’ll spend the night cuddling and stuff… but I figured you might not want that… So, I figured I’d offer you a hug.”

“Fuck off, I don’t want one.”

Claire shrugged, putting his brush down.

“Wait…” Christian put his brush down too, “I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine if you don’t want a hu-”

“I do… I don’t know why… I said I didn’t.” He looked down at the floor. He felt Claire pull him close. His arms were warm and safe. Christian hid his face into Claire’s shoulder, wrapping his hands around his back.

“Why did I get parole?”

“I don’t know.” Christian felt a hand move away from his back, before being returned to rub it in soft circles. Bart came in with a soft knock. Christian stood away from Claire, before being pulled into another hug by Bart.

“Come inside. Bring the blankets.”

\---

Bart had set up a futon for the three of them. The blankets were dumped into the room. Bart began assembling them over the futon to make a tent.  He used as many pillows as he could carry to line the edges. Claire climbed in, kick off his shoes. Bart took off his shirt and put on a pyjama top, before climbing in next to Claire. Claire tapped the other side of him, gesturing Christian over. Christian climbed in, feeling the warmth beginning to build up. Bart set up a makeshift projector with his phone and the sheet above them. He played a video of dancing cats that played softly, before cuddling under the softest blanket. Claire laid down next to him.

“Welcome to Bart’s Pillow Fort. He does one of these every now and then.” Christian lied down next to Claire, watching the video. He found himself slowly edging closer to Claire. Bart put his glasses on the headrest’s shelf, Claire doing the same. Bart rested his head on Claire’s chest, inviting Christian to do the same. Christian shuffled closer, Claire holding him with one arm. Christian felt a lump build in his throat.

“W-why do you care about me?”

“You may be a shitty person, but you’re still our friend,” answered Bart, gently pushing Christian’s hair back. Claire nodded in agreement. Christian rested on Claire’s shoulder, nuzzling into his hold with a sigh. Bart rolled onto his stomach, staying resting on Claire’s chest. Christian rolled over, pulling Claire’s hand to his chest, pressing his back into Claire’s side.

“…Goodnight Claire… Bart.”

“Goodnight, Christian,”  Claire said as he turned off the lights, hugging them both close.


End file.
